Not We the Conquered
by liron-aria
Summary: Ian Rider is a man of many secrets, not the least of which is that he used to be a firefighter in Mariner Bay, California. Even if he's fighting assassins now instead of demons, one thing remains the same - he's not going down without a fight.


A/N: I am slowly picking up the pieces from my earlier hard drive crash, though I seem to spending more time in avoidance. One venue of avoidance happened to be Alex Rider fanfiction, and this is the end result. This fic is set in the same Universe as _Once and Always_, my Leverage/Power Rangers Operation Overdrive fic, though knowledge of that fic shouldn't be necessary to understand what's going on here.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Alex Rider or the Power Rangers. They belong to Anthony Horowitz and Saban/Disney/Nickelodeon, respectively.

With that out of the way, please, read and enjoy!

* * *

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die.

Having lived through many, many near-death experiences, Ian Rider can confidently say, that's only true some of the time.

Most of the time, all you have is blind, unadulterated panic, and half a prayer.

Ian bites his lip to muffle a cry of pain as his phone is shot out of his hand. _Yassen Gregorovich,_ really? Last he heard, the assassin was in Cuba. Of course, that was six or so months ago – right around the time Herod Sayle made his vacation there, how did he manage to miss that before? Did anyone at MI6 know? Because if he was sent in with the suspicion Gregorovich hanging around, and no one told, someone's going to find his boot up their arse when he gets home.

A bullet races over his head, and he swears. He needs to find cover if he wants to teleport out. Of _course_ it would have to be the _one_ assassin Ryan trained up himself on his tail. Another bullet clips him in the shoulder – _just a graze, keep moving, Rider_ – and Ian darts around a corner, pressing down on his morpher immediately.

The world washes red, and he reappears in the bathroom attached to the room Sayle set up for him. The graze on his shoulder has already stopped bleeding, glowing faintly red as he pushes more Power into it. The wound on his hand is another matter. He's going to have to bandage it up and let it heal over at least a few days, especially since he has to regrow bone.

Gregorovich will start backtracking soon, sending guards to check his quarters. He'd been careful, his cover was intact until the assassin showed up. He's still not sure _how_ Gregorovich found out about him in the mines, but he can mull it over _after_ he's out of danger.

He quickly wraps his hand, as tight as he can manage it, mentally reviewing everything he knows about Yassen Gregorovich. The assassin is one of the best in the world, tied to SCORPIA, even though he was also known to do freelance work. Ian's crossed paths with him four times now, and only one of those times didn't involve the Russian shooting at him. He prides himself on being one of the few, if not only, black marks on Gregorovich's record, an incomplete kill.

And the one time Gregorovich _wasn't_ trying to kill him? He has his half-demon brother-in-law to thank for that.

Ian curses as he fumbles with the bandages, dropping the roll. Fourteen years, and the wound is just as fresh.

Fourteen years ago, his brother-in-law got on a plane with his wife to flee the country, and died in a ball of fire. It shouldn't have killed him. Ryan – _John Rider_ – was raised by demons. Fire meant nothing to him. On top of that, he was a _Power Ranger_. His injuries automatically healed faster than a normal human's, even more so if he consciously directed the Power to a wound.

"Not _now_, Red," Ian mutters, pinning the end of the wrapping down, moving into the main room to get his bag.

But Carter Grayson's memories are not so easily suppressed.

John – Ryan – was at the epicenter of the blast. No one, no matter the species, could survive being torn apart by that much shrapnel, heat, and concussive force. It was a painful death, but a death nonetheless.

The gaping wound in his soul is testament to that.

"_Stop it,_" the man hisses, pressing one hand against his temple.

He can feel it, even now, the raw, jagged wound, dripping with pain and sorrow. Ryan may have been his brother-in-law legally, but in every other sense, he was part of his _soul._ Just like –

No.

He's not going _there._ Not now.

"Focus, Rider, you're on a mission," he tells himself sternly, "You don't have time to break down. Schoolchildren across the country – like _Alex_ – are depending on you."

The mention of his nephew is enough. Ian picks up his duffel bag and tosses it on the bed. There's a bottle of Lidocaine rolling around at the bottom, and he has never been more glad to see it.

"Getting soft in your old age," the spy mutters to himself, "Getting made at the tail end of a mission, getting shot, taking pain pills… Tommy would-"

- What is he _doing_? _Anyone_ could be listening in on him right now, he hasn't swept the room for bug and he's throwing around old names he shouldn't know like candy wrappers. He's _lucky_ Sayle isn't enough of a creep to put surveillance in the bathroom as well.

_Oh, you're doing your Color so proud right now, Carter._

There's a reason he actually does avoid teleporting whenever possible. It uses more Power than just healing, and even after over a decade, he still hasn't figured out how to stem the rush of memories that come with it.

Memories of being a firefighter in Mariner Bay, California, of running into blazing heat to save a child, even when everyone else said it was too dangerous.

Memories of a paramedic who smoothly took over care of the child he saved, and ushered him into a world he never thought possible.

Memories of a pilot, the best in the country, with a spirit as free as the skies he flew through.

Memories of the diver and lifeguard who felt as at home at sea as he did in the firehouse.

Memories of an adventurer, full of life and light.

Memories of a demon, a brother lost and found and lost and found again.

Memories of his brothers and sisters. Of his _wife._

"Oh, you picked a Hell of a time to reminisce," he mutters under his breath as he packs. Thankfully, there isn't much, just his clothes, the papers for his cover as a security expert from the Ministry of the Interior, and his first aid kit. All of his personal, coded mission notes are hidden under the false bottom of his back.

He _should_ be using this time to plan his escape, and figure out how to contact MI6. London is still a few hours away, anything could happen by that point. And he doesn't have his phone on him any longer, to call and tell them what Sayle is planning.

Instead, his mind seems inexorably drawn back to the past, beyond memories of the Power Rangers Lightspeed Rescue, beyond the _purpose_ and _life_ and _family_ he'd found there. Bile rises up in his throat for a moment, and he remembers the Purge.

His clenches his injured hand into a fist. Focus. There is _no reason_ for him to be breaking down like this, and he certainly can't afford to in the middle of a high-priority mission, with a world-class assassin on his tail. The pain cuts through his memories like a knife, pulling him back to the present.

Just in time, too, as a loud klaxon starts blaring throughout the building. He can hear footsteps thudding at the far end of the corridor, and he knows his time is up. He slings his bag over his uninjured shoulder and presses down on his morpher.

It's only when he rematerializes in the shadows of the parking garage that he remembers the small scrap of paper tucked into the canopy of his bed. Damn. Rookie mistake. There's nothing for it, now, of course, and the dry suit and rope he'd bought will have to remain in the depths of the Dozmary mine as well. It's not like it'll do anyone any good there; there's a reason no one enters Sayle's assembly line from that direction.

Ian almost doesn't recognize his silver BMW when he sees it. Sometimes it's the little things that don't seem real to the former "white trash" firefighter. His blood pulses loudly in his ears as he strides over, his senses on high alert. His car isn't equipped to withstand gunfire if there _were_ enemies around – he only got it a few weeks ago, and hasn't found the time to get it properly outfitted yet.

The corner of his lips twitches up in an unconscious half-smile as he remembers the reason he has a new car. Alex's best friend Tom had decided that Ian's old car, a modest and comfortable Toyota Corolla which had been secretly outfitted with bulletproof glass and reinforced armor on the doors and bonnet, wasn't interesting enough, and had somehow managed to convince Alex to pester him into getting a new car.

He's still not entirely sure how that happened. He is, however, sure that Alex also wants the BMW for himself when he's legally old enough to drive.

They'll just have to see how that one goes.

The radio starts blaring Gareth Gates as soon as he starts the car, and he winces. Why did he think it was a good idea to turn the radio to a pop station, again? He switches to the Holst CD Jack gave him last Christmas, listening to the sound of _Mars, the Bringer of War_ fill the vehicle as he turns the corner.

Classical music is a far cry from the bluegrass and country he grew up listening to, but he's a different man now. Quiet, private. A glass of wine at night, alone more often than not, instead of knocking back a beer with the rest of the guys at the firehouse. Expensive suits and shirts instead of uniforms and simple jeans and T-shirts. Books and classical music instead of pick-up games of basketball downtown and drunk karaoke.

While he was mostly ambivalent towards classical music in his younger years, Dana loved it. She'd play a CD on a lazy Saturday afternoon, and drag him into their living room, and they'd dance – badly – to the music, just the two of them. He still remembers how she looked, eyes alight with contentment, a smile resting on her lips as Carter led her around the room.

Ian clenches his hands on the steering wheel, pain bringing him out of the past.

Dana Grayson, née Mitchell, Pink Lightspeed Rescue Power Ranger, is _dead._ And nothing will _change_ that. He needs to focus on what he has. Alex. Jack.

Alex, the son of his best friend and brother. Alex, with his father's face and mother's eyes. Alex, who likes sports and computers and is entirely too curious for his own good. Alex, who teases him about being old and quiet and tries to make puppy-eyes at him to get the answers for his science homework. Clever Alex who's started beating him at snooker, and steals food from his plate from under his nose whenever they order Chinese take-away.

Ryan would be _so_ proud of him if he were still alive. He hopes his Titanium Ranger is watching from the afterlife, to see his son grow with all the best parts of him and Helen. Ryan Mitchell always had a quick mind, just like his sister, and that certainly didn't change when he left the United States to become John Rider. That didn't change when he met Helen Rider, a no-nonsense, industrious nurse with serious brown eyes that hid a fierce wit.

Alex has clearly inherited both of his parents' mental acuity, soaking up knowledge like a sponge. From languages to general knowledge, Alex looks at the world around him, observing, _learning_, and Carter sees the child Ryan never got to be. And perhaps more importantly, Alex has inherited both his parents' honor and sense of right. He doesn't stand for bullies, and doesn't lord his power and skills over others.

If Ryan and Helen are watching, he hopes they're happy. He hopes they're proud of the man Alex is becoming, so soon already. And he hopes they can forgive Carter the mistakes he's made.

Being a spy is hard, nearly impossible with a family. John and Helen Rider were planning on getting out of the life after Alex was born. Ian was pulled into the life to earn the right to custody over his nephew. The Becketts never cared one way or another about their daughter, let alone their grandson, and Blunt wanted to place Alex with them because they were closer blood relatives?

Not a chance.

It was a long dance, especially with the Purge raging around him. When he wasn't fighting Blunt for custody over Alex, he was helping Tommy protect the Rangers. He didn't understand then – and still doesn't, now – how the world could simply turn their backs on the Rangers. It hurt, when all he had done was give, and _give,_ only to get spat at in return. After Dax's death, Lightspeed knew something had to give.

It was never even a question. Rangers would never put themselves above the world they fought so hard to protect. Contracts were signed, treaties written, and cover identities made. New lives woven from scratch to restore the peace while giving the Rangers one last chance at life. There were meetings with alien dignitaries in back rooms, long hours spent over old laws, and documents signed in blood to protect the Earth when the Rangers couldn't do it anymore.

Dana died.

Ryan – John – died.

Captain Mitchell died.

Carter picked up the pieces. Dropped them, once or twice. Fell, himself, only to be caught by Tommy Oliver, and supported until he could pick up the pieces and keep going again.

He misses Tommy, sometimes. Misses him the same way he misses Dana and the other Rangers, in short, intense bursts, before he can pack away those memories and feelings again. He misses the man's firm and unwavering supporting. His passion and drive and quiet charisma. There's a reason the Tommy is the unquestioned leader of Earth's Power Rangers. In his world of cold lies and secrets and manipulation, he misses he _warmth_ and _connection_ he shared with the other Red Ranger.

But that's all in the past, a place he can never return to. As long as he wants Alex in his life, he has to be Ian Rider, covert operative for the Special Operations division of MI6. Alex is the most important person in his world, and he won't do anything to jeopardize that. That's the reason he enrolled Alex at Brookland School instead of any other private institution. Alex is bright, he'd do well in any of London's top schools, but while those schools are academically advanced, their physical security is markedly less so. The city's most academically rigorous school is actually dead center in what amounts to a killbox. Brookland is on high ground, no buildings near enough to give short or mid-range snipers good access to any targets within the school. The building itself is old and solid, outfitted with a bomb shelter during the Second World War. And all the faculty are legitimately upstanding members of society.

He knows this because he ran background checks on all of them. He has no regrets.

He's not naïve enough to believe his enemies will never find his nephew. He's a good operative, but he's not the best. His biggest assets are his fighting skills, his healing factor, and the morpher that allows him to teleport. There are people who know his face, assassins who know he works for MI6, and there's always a chance that will lead back to Alex. The entire reason he even lives in England is because of a worst case scenario, after all.

That's why he enrolled Alex in karate lessons when he was six. There had been a man, prowling the neighborhood for a few weeks. Someone he hadn't managed to take out in an earlier mission, who had been waiting for revenge. Ian could protect himself just fine. Alex couldn't.

Ian took Alex to the local club to learn karate the day after the threat was dealt with. Alex took to it like a fish to water, and is now on his way to becoming a second Dan black-belt. Ian feels a grin of pride stretch across his face at how quickly Alex has progressed. Alex picks up skills quickly, from driving to biking to skiing, especially if it's a physical activity.

Carter remembers some of the less abstract and arcane theory about Power Rangers and the people who take up the mantle says that Red Rangers are among the most physical beings on their teams. They're the strength, the "body" of the team, with Yellow and Blue as "soul" and "mind," respectively.

He can see it in Alex. Tendrils of Red and Blue and Yellow. He only wishes Ryan was here to see it, or any of the other Red Rangers, to see their legacy. _Every_ Ranger would cheerfully dote on him, especially the women. He wonders how Alex would deal with it – the only adult woman truly in his life now is Jack.

Jack was… unexpected. An American art student looking for a way to make ends meet, his first instinct was to turn her away. It was too dangerous, the Purge was only a few years gone, and he'd been a public figure. Even though his research showed she wasn't anti-Ranger, or from an anti-Ranger family, if she recognized him as a Ranger, everything he'd worked for would be for nothing. But, on the other hand, Blunt wanted to put him on longer, riskier missions. Ones that would involve his full commitment, not just the hours that Alex was at school or the local crèche or asleep.

He hired Jack the day Blunt put him on a three-week mission in Pakistan. The rest, as they say, is history.

Ian frowns slightly, steering his car around a bend. Jack's been with him and Alex for about seven years, five of which she's been employed solely as their housekeeper. He thanks God every day that she's around to be there for Alex when he can't. She's a good woman, bright and cheerful, with something quintessentially _American_ that he's secretly glad Alex has in his life. However, a month ago, he found a typed-up letter of resignation on the computer. It hadn't been printed yet, but he has a feeling that when he gets back, there's going to be a discussion between him and Jack about terminating her employment.

He'll be sorry to see her go, more on Alex's behalf than his own. She's become more like a sister to the teen, and Ian knows she adores Alex just as much. But, she has her own future to think about, too, and Alex will soon be old enough not to need her. After she leaves, Ian will either have to find someone new, or send Alex to a boarding school, and that's the last thing he wants.

Ian stiffens, pushing all thoughts of Alex and Jack to the back of his mind. Danger. There are people about to try and kill him in his vicinity. Blue Rangers may know when they will die, but Red Rangers know when they _could_ die. The Power gifts them with heightened battle intuition, and right now, Ian knows without a shadow of a doubt that there are people with guns surrounding him, about to shoot his car full of bullets.

There's a flash of light as another car crests the hill further down the road, coming towards him. The BMW jerks as a bullet tears through the bonnet and straight into the engine. There's a loud pop even as Ian swears, pressing down on the accelerator and trying to turn the car.

The windshield shatters and his shoulder blazes with agony. Another bullet hits his thing and he can't keep from crying out. He grabs his gun and fires off a round. He's not going down that easy.

His window shatters.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die.

Having lived through many, many near-death experiences, Ian Rider can confidently say, that's only true some of the time.

Most of the time, all you have is blind, unadulterated panic, and half a prayer.

But, sometimes, you manage one last thought for the people you're leaving behind.

_Oh, Alex, I'm so sorry -_

* * *

A/N: And there it is. So, thoughts? Please, leave a review!


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